and Boula looked around nervously, scanning the ceiling. The rafters were all nailed but there was only a single opalite wire twisted around, haphazardly, dipping down in messy loops, sometimes all the way down to the floor.

This place was dimmer than any place she'd ever been before in Low, and the feeling of the dimness pressing in around her was near unbearable, like being up to her nostrils in icewater. She tread very, very carefully, stepping through a loop and making sure her clumsy hooves didn't shatter the entire affair.

It wasn't messy, per se, but cluttered — and maybe a little dirty — well, what was to be expected from the usual male? The windowsills and pair of small, square tables were covered in dust where they were not covered with liquid stains and papers, and there was grime where the wall met the stonewood floor. Kitchen was pretty empty, obviously hardly used. The only things that weren't all great dusty was a big old cushion in the corner of the room, all shaped where he must normally sit, a mattress set straight on the floor and half-covered by a blanket, a veritable tower of records, and an old revolving player. There was something in the player too, which was murmuring slightly; Boula looked around a bit and then prodded it with the tip of her fingerhoof, realigning the grooves with the needle.

A faint noise — she cocked an ear into the player's mouth. Soft, soft passerine song.

She swallowed and then straightened. Everything was pretty much in order. There hadn't been a struggle.

Seph was just gone.